


Soldier's Rations

by TourmalineQueen



Series: Rozenn the Breton [18]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Written for Skyrim KinkmemeDB/Fail!SpouseExplanation: I'm 3 months pregnant with me and my husband's first child. Being tired 90% of the time (and hungry the other 10%), I don't feel like cooking which is problematic because my husband (as much as I love him), is fail. Oatmeal is soup, macaroni and cheese is yellow play dough attached to a spoon, and INSTANT mashed potatoes look like what the oat meal should look like... I swear I do love him, but he isn't meant to cook. I'm okay with that because he has other skills; cooking just isn't one of them...So, with him annoying me to the brink of Cicero-esque madness (though most times, it's just funny) at his fail!cooking, I was thinking it'd be funny if the DB had a similar problem. Their spouse tries their damndest to do things, but fail is all that occurs in everything except one particular skill.Sexytimes are not a requirement, but will not be frowned upon (I mean, hey, sometimes, that's a spouse's only talent). I love all DB and spouses so no racial preferences for either.fail!Cookies all around!Kinks: crack; if things get steamy, het/slash/femslash/whole nine are all fine as pairingsSquicks: bathroom stuff, anal, gore





	Soldier's Rations

Galmar smiled when he heard the door open behind him. Rozenn grunted and he heard her too-heavy pack thump to the hardwood floor and the door slam as she kicked it shut. Galmar stood and turned to her, a bottle of mead in hand. Rozenn padded tiredly to him, eyes half-shut and arms open, wrapping around him and immediately leaning into his warmth.

"Wife, where's Calder?" Galmar asked, letting his free hand rest on her nape and stroking her hair with his fingertips.

"Mmffmmhuff," Rozenn mumbled into his chest.

"Is that so? What about dinner?" Galmar asked, amused.

"Bed? Food? Foodbed? Please? Bed now?" Rozenn pleaded, turning to look up at him with her most pitiful puppy-dog eyes.

"Hrmph," Galmar grunted, trying and failing to hide his amusement at her. "You're getting some bad habits. You should bring me with you. I at least would stop you from weighing your pack down with too much Dwemer scrap metal or excessive numbers of Draugr war-axes. That Housecarl of yours is too lenient with you by far."

"Food soon please now bed, please?" Rozenn begged prettily.

Galmar snorted. "Fine. Go up to bed. I'll bring you something."

"Nothing too heavy. Broth, maybe, or porridge? I'm still queasy," Rozenn admitted reluctantly.

"That babe will be the death of me," Galmar muttered. "You'll get what I give you, and thank me for it, spoiled Breton brat."

Rozenn grabbed his tunic by the lapel and pulled herself up on tiptoes and kissed him, offering a grateful smile. "Food good. Bed better. Soon, Husband."

Galmar chuckled and sent her to the stairs. He laughed outright at the tired groan of irritation she let out at the sight of all the stairs she had to climb. "Worse than High Fucking Hrothgar. I need a single-storey house."

Galmar headed to the kitchen as she stamped grumpily upstairs.

*-*

Rozenn didn't remember falling into bed, but she must have, and neither did she remember falling asleep, but Galmar woke her some time later with a warm kiss. She was still dressed in her leather Thieves' Guild armour: she was glad, because that at least was comfortable to sleep in, unlike her heavy Wolf armour.

Galmar was laughing softly as he watched her roll around on the bed tugging at the boot that didn't want to be toed off. She glared at him.

"You might offer a hand," she said crossly, too tired to be polite.

Galmar barked out a laugh. "I'm not your Housecarl."

"Helping me to disrobe has benefits for a husband," she pointed out.

"Thought you wanted food first, then bed. Then possibly bedsports later?"

"Food?"

"Ah. Ahem, um, erm, well, rations, might be a more accurate description. I can't cook like some. I learned in the army."

Rozenn glanced at the chest at the end of the bed, which served as table. Hardtack biscuits, think porridge (thankfully with a honeypot beside it) and a bowl of what might have been a stew, chowder, or broth or perhaps something in between. And some burned bread rolls that Rozenn suspected could double for slingshot ammunition. She looked up at her husband.

"I thought you were just testing Calder's skills, I never thought you preferred his cooking," she said softly, smiling.

"If you want to wait for him, I'm reliably informed he's at "mmfhmmfmmf"," Galmar joked.

"What's in the bowl?" Rozenn asked.

"Uh, I'm not sure."

"Pass me the porridge and honey? And you know this means I get to ask Ulfric about your cookery lessons in the Legion, now."

"No, it doesn't."

*-*-*


End file.
